The Shadows Suit Me (Revised)
by Luke1
Summary: Luke Skywalker was once a beacon of light for the whole Galaxy. He and Leia had been happy together with their son. Considering what he went through, Luke's anger and spice addition are probably understandable, but he can't go on destroying himself forever. (13 years ago, I wrote the Shadows Suit Me, which was a first draft. This is the revised edition-with added material.)
1. Prologue

Foreword (Author's Note)

When I wrote _the Shadows Suit Me_ , I was nineteen, I didn't ever proofread or have things beta'd, and, besides, I had very little idea where this whole thing was going. After several years of letting the sequel, _Burning Bright_ , sit idle, I finally got a new computer and sat down to finish writing it, only to realize that I needed to re-read what I'd written so far, otherwise I'd have no idea where to go from there. It was immediately obvious that _Shadows_ needed to be revised. It was riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, unintentional cliches, continuity mistakes, foreshadowing that didn't go anywhere, etc, etc. There were passages that needed to be elaborated upon, others that needed to be removed. I remember telling more than one reader at the time that _Shadows_ was a rough draft, and it's true. I typed it up between—and sometimes during—classes, and I was in such a rush to get it out into the world that I didn't take the time I actually needed to polish it. Better late than never.

I'm calling this version 2.0. There will probably be a 2.1 after I finish _Burning Bright_ , to bring them all together. Before writing 2.1, I'll probably ask for a beta reader. Please let me know if you're interested.

Do you need to read the revised _Shadows_ if you read the original? Not really, unless you want to, but if you are reading _Burning Bright,_ I would advise it.

Revising _Shadows_ is what I need to do to move forward in this series, in my writing career, and in my life. I hope you all enjoy it.

Chris

* * *

Dedicated to all women who have refused to let men destroy them. You deserve so much better. I love you so.

* * *

The Shadows Suit Me

Prologue

I suppose there was a time when we were happy.

I remember it that way at least. Leia...well, who knows about her. All I know for sure is that the light and dark seem to come in turns for me. I don't get both in balance like other people. And the dark has stayed now far too long.

The sun is setting behind the towers of the Imperial Palace. It's winter, but it's been so dry lately that the isn't any snow on the rooftops or on the balcony where I sit, no frost clinging to the windows and walls. I didn't grow up with this cold, but I got used to it. I suppose I should be wearing a jacket or something, but it doesn't matter. Not to anyone but me, at least, and if I'm the only one who cares about me then there's no point in bothering to take care of myself. I watch as the lights turn on one by one in the Palace as people realize, blinking up from computer screens, data pads, and dinner, that night has all but fallen. I let the apartment behind me remain unlit. The shadows suit me.

In one of those rooms across Imperial City, through one of those lit windows in the Palace, there's a seven-year-old, blue-eyed boy called Anakin. Leia once implied, years ago, something about my own character by drawing a sharp distinction between Vader and Anakin Skywalker. We've never talked about it, but I still know that Leia named the boy after that idea, even though I'd left. I don't understand. At least, I don't think I do.

There's another, dark-eyed and ten. Ben.

I put out my spice stick in the ashtray beside my chair. I can still see my breath, even though it's no longer mixed with smoke. But I'm not cold, anymore, as I feel the warmth from the spice tingle through my body. I close my eyes and lean my head back in my chair. It washes over me, the rush like cold water and a warm blanket at the same time, flushing my skin and raising every hair on my body, numbing my emotions, dulling my thoughts and senses and pain. It's like pins all over, but it's so soft and gentle. Euphoria without really feeling like anything at all. Wide-awake and so far away you're practically gone.

The rush only lasts for the beginning of the high, and you feel empty after it goes away. Sometimes embarrassed. Sometimes angry. Always low. Especially when you tell yourself so often that this is going to be the last time.

Sitting up, I listlessly regard the crowded ashtray on the duracrete floor. Last time. Right.

As if I would have been a good father, anyway.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I don't like to think about it, but I always think about it anyway. That's one of the things the spice is for. To make the story stop.

I thought I'd understood fear when, at the age of eighteen, I'd found Leia crying, curled into a little ball in an empty hanger at the Alliance Yavin base a few hours after the award ceremony. Everyone else was at the party in the other room, and her absence had nagged at me until I'd found her. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, but I was a good little boy and took care of her, incapable of predicting the severity of her personal tragedy. I assumed it was about Alderaan, and that she didn't want to talk about it, and I couldn't blame her. It was certainly a lot about Alderaan, but days later she told me that she thought she was pregnant. I think she actually said, "My period's late and I'm worried I'm pregnant and I can't even com my father," in one breath, and I just stared at her with wide, helpless farmboy eyes. I'd been confused and momentarily devastated by directionless jealousy, because that must mean that there was someone else, and if she was more upset about not being able to tell _her_ father than not being able to tell the baby's father, I thought that must mean that he was here with the Alliance, only I didn't know how I hadn't realized one of the men on base was her boyfriend. But there wasn't anyone else, not on Alderaan, not at the base, not anywhere, and I felt like a selfish idiot when I finally pieced together what had happened. It turns out it's common knowledge among Rebels that Imperial Stormtroopers—and sometimes even officers—didn't see women for months or years at a time, since the Empire didn't usually recruit or enlist them, and the standard interrogation techniques that they used basically implicitly advocated the use of rape as a motivator. It wouldn't have surprised anyone with the Alliance that Leia had been mistreated the way that she had, no one but me. I couldn't believe such cruelty existed in the Galaxy. And she had been on the receiving end of so much cruelty already.

Leia couldn't have been unaware of what happened to other prisoners, and she had even suspected what was going on in her own body within a very sort time of it happening, but it was such an emotional shock to her that, aside from the initial crying and the one time she admitted it to me, she totally froze. I guess trauma can do that to you, no matter how strong and intelligent you are. When she started to show, it was too late to get an abortion in any of the Imperial systems, and we tried to go elsewhere, but Leia eventually decided to keep the baby. I think she just wanted one thing in her life that was new and hopeful. Once she said to me, "Alderaan's gone and...I want a family. I don't think there's anything wrong with that."

Meanwhile, I followed her around like a loyal pet, taking care of her, making sure she ate, being there for her to talk to. I needed her to talk to, too. I'd just lost my aunt and uncle, my mentor, and by best friend, and I was suddenly in the middle of a new career that was exciting and everything I'd ever wanted, but it was all happening so fast and I was having a hard time adjusting emotionally. Leia became my touchstone immediately, and I think I was hers. She was like someone I'd known my whole life. I got nervous around her whenever I tried to tell her how I felt about her, but, otherwise, our conversations flowed as if they were half-telepathic. We discovered quickly that we slept better the nearer we were to one another. I had a new best friend. The crush I'd had on her since the first time I saw her holo turned into deep, unfaltering love.

Han, in the rare moments he was around—it became more as the war went on—managed to figure out Leia's secret, not only that she was pregnant, but how it happened. So little about people got past him. When she wasn't around, he'd tease me by calling the baby mine, which I thought was just supposed to make me feel awkward about how obvious my feelings were. I finally asked him to stop, and asked him why he did it to begin with, because it seemed pretty disrespectful. "Look, kid," he said, dropping the gag, leaning towards me, "If you two get together—and you're gonna, you know you are—then you're gonna be starin' down the barrel of a loaded fatherhood, and I know you're dumb enough to go through with it. I'm just tryin' to get you used to the idea so you know what you're gettin' yourself into."

I _was_ getting used to the idea. I thought Leia looked even more beautiful pregnant. More and more, she was able to forget how this had happened to her, and she was happy that she wasn't alone after Alderaan, that she had the baby on the way, that she had my friendship, and in those moments she would just glow. We spent more and more evenings together when we got off duty, and we'd cuddle and talk about our daydreams for the future. New settlements where Alderaan survives could live together. The Empire would be long gone. I'd be there with her and her son. I'd be damned if I wasn't going to help her make the best life for both of them that I could.

It was on a night away from the rest of the Alliance in a hotel room that Leia and I had finally made love. I hadn't expected it, then or ever. I'd resolved never to come on to her, because I never wanted to hurt her or remind her of what had happened. Besides which, I was a virgin, and my limited experiences with one girl on Tatooine hadn't really prepared me for that kind of interaction. We'd talked earlier in the day and admitted we were in love—both of us!—and I suppose it was what drove us. That night, I told her that I wanted to raise the baby with her. She told me, "As far as I'm concerned, he's yours." So he became mine.

When I found the Alderaanian engagement broach in a flea market a few months later, I bought it on impulse. Han had rolled his eyes and reminded me that I'd only known her a short time and I might be moving a little fast, but I was immediately resolved. I'd barely thought it through, true, but I knew it was what I wanted. When we got back to base, I found that a very-pregnant Leia had been ordered by Mon Mothma to take some time off, and when I found her in the quarters we shared I couldn't believe how big she was. When I could finally tear myself away from kissing her for a second, I told her I had something for her, and gave her the jewelry box. An incredulous smirk turned into shock when she opened it. "Luke, do you know what this is?" she asked, clearly thinking I must not know.

I was worried for a moment that maybe I didn't actually know, but I couldn't force a sentence out of my mouth. I thought that I might be so very in the wrong—even if I was right about what the broach meant. Leia was a princess. Was she supposed to marry royalty? We hadn't talked about it. Maybe she was hoping to make a political alliance for which she'd need to agree to a marriage contract. I was so naive. What was I doing? But I _thought_ I knew what the broach meant, and I new what I wanted, so I just nodded.

She smiled hesitantly and raised her eyebrows. "Are you proposing to me?"

I smiled awkwardly, and then we were both smiling, and laughing, and then kissing again, and I couldn't believe how in love with her I was right then and every other second I knew her. We were perfect together. It had to mean something. I hadn't been wrong after all. "Will you marry me?" I asked her, her round, fair face in my hands, and Leia laughed joyfully and blinked tears out of her dark eyes.

"Yes," she said confidently, nodding.

We were married by Mon Mothma only days later, because we wanted to be sure to do it before the baby came, mostly because we knew how busy we'd be with an infant on our hands and a war going on. We barely had a wedding, but Leia had a something to wear hastily made anyway, since almost none of her old clothes fit. She was close to term at that point, and she spent most of her time exhausted and frustrated, and she was starting to get nervous about the birth and I knew it was bringing up the trauma of the conception for her, but I think none of it weighed on her that day. She seemed so relaxed. I will never get the image of her in her wedding dress out of my head. She looked like a picture from a mythology book, an ethereal mother goddess, pale blue vineskilk falling in gathers over her round stomach, a golden ribbon tied around her hair, more beautiful than I ever could have imagined in all of my daydreams. My wife, the mother of my son. And me just an awed kid from the desert reflecting her light.

We took a few days off to honeymoon, even though we didn't leave the base. I was already getting teased by the rest of my squadron about being an old married man, but it couldn't have bothered me less. I had Leia to go home to for the rest of my life. Nothing could ever bother me again.

The baby came two weeks early, after thirty hours of labor, and it was the most stressful day of my life up until that point. When I looked into Ben Skywalker's black eyes for the first time, though, I knew it had all been worth it. It never felt like he wasn't really mine. I mean, he was mine. I held him the day he was born and we looked at each other, and he became mine. And he looked just like his mother. I couldn't believe how much I loved him.

I remember I was sitting at Leia's bedside a few hours after Ben's birth, holding the sleeping baby swaddled in my arms, too happy to sleep, too tired to sleep almost, when Leia stirred awake and turned to me. My greeting smile faded when she said, mournfully, "Luke, I have to tell you something. Don't hate me. I didn't know how to tell you. I think I had to see him before I could."

I furrowed my brow and said lowly, "Leia, what are you talking about?"

"I know we never really talked about it, but...I know who it was."

I frowned, then sat back a little when I realized what she meant. She knew who it was on the Death Star. Ben's biological father. I'd always assumed it was a Stormtrooper, and she'd always let me assume. I was stunned for a second, and then I thought about all of the names of Imperial Officers, and there weren't many, and most of those I knew died on the Death Star. I doubted any name would mean anything to me. And I didn't see how it changed anything, anyway. Maybe she just wanted to tell me, for herself, so she didn't have to know it alone.

While I was considering it, Leia burst into tears, then choked them back. "Don't hold it against me that I didn't tell you-"

"Leia, it doesn't make any difference-"

"It was _Vader_ , Luke."

In retrospect, it's actually kind of cute how much that scared me. I had no idea what scared was.

But the fear turned straight into anger the moment I looked down at Ben. I wasn't afraid of Vader, and I couldn't be afraid of his son. He wasn't Vader's son, anyway. He was Leia's son. And I was going to raise him. He couldn't ever be anything like Vader.

When I looked back at my wife—so completely traumatized but so unbelievably tough—all I could think about was how much Vader had to answer for, and wonder how it was that so much of this man's destruction could possibly surround me at every turn. I shifted closer to Leia, pushing my anger back so that I could just be calm and stable for her, and set the baby on the bed beside her as I leaned down and kissed both of them on their foreheads. "You don't owe it to me to tell me about any of that, okay? We can talk about it if you ever want to, but if you don't...you don't have to feel guilty. Besides, this doesn't change _anything_ ," I said with total confidence.

She nodded.

I found out years later that it changed everything.

* * *

Out on my balcony, I shut my eyes against the memory, shedding a hot tear on my on frozen cheek. I wipe it away impatiently. Clenching my teeth, I rush inside, not bothering to closer the door behind me, to the drawer in the tiny kitchen where I keep my box of spice sticks and other supplies. The box is empty. I sit tiredly on the kitchen floor. Gone. Blast. "Fuck," I breathe.

Slumping against the wall, I breathe deeply against the headache I'm already getting. What am I gonna do?

I'll take a hot shower, I think. It'll warm me up and relax my tense muscles.

Then I'll go to that cantina just below here. I know at least one pusher who's bound to be there, even though he asks too much. I guess sometimes part of what you're paying for is convenience. I can put it off a little bit, though. If I can't wait half an hour then...well, _then_ I'll admit to myself I have a problem. Or maybe I'm just trying to put off going out in public. There are _people_ out there.

I stand, and from the kitchen I can still see the Palace. It draws me back out to the balcony as I fixate on its twinkling lights. I worry about her still. Every day. I wonder if she's doing as badly as I am, but I don't think she is. I know her, and she has the ability to change darkness to a nova—I used to think I had that ability, too. Everything she's ever done has been so self-assured and so sincere, and, as it turns out, I am not like that. Nothing has ever held her back. Not from finishing her doctorate in her teens, from being elected to the senate, from becoming an Alliance spy, from going on after Alderaan, from deciding to have a family when she had the opportunity in spite of what others might have said and thought. Now she's president of the new government. The Galaxy needs her. We're nothing alike.

Besides, she'd be strong for the kids no matter what. I really doubt they'll ever know why I left. I hope they don't, anyway.

I sigh and close the door, and then the dark curtains that block the light. This building is cheap enough that the transparasteel doesn't have dimmers.

I feel the familiar sting of guilt when I think about my kids, but I remind myself that Han takes care of them. It's not as if they don't have a father. Guilt turns into bitterness, jealousy, resentment, self-righteousness. At least that part wasn't my fault, I think with some satisfaction that quickly dims as I wonder again if I could have handled it better. But it doesn't matter anyway. Han takes care of Leia, now, anyway. I mean, I asked him to. He never would have denied me that.

Thinking about Han does nothing to make me feel better. "Yeah," I murmur ironically to myself, remembering the recent breaking news from the first family, "I bet he takes real good care of her."


	3. Chapter 2

I have no idea how we did it, but Leia and I managed to keep Ben with one or the other of us at all times while hiding out with the Alliance, even though occasions the three of us could be together somewhere safe were infrequent. Honestly, we couldn't have done it at all without Han. Every time there was action, one of us escaped with Ben aboard the _Falcon_. We could always count on Han to wait for Ben before he lifted off.

It was the happiest time of my life. Leia and I were married, and our time alone together was never enough, but when we did have time alone it was perfect. I trusted the universe to bring her back to me every time, and I trusted her and our connection to one another completely. Everything was easy with Leia. We never fought. We sometimes had misunderstandings due only to the differences in the cultures in which we were raised or differences in our temperaments, but those were instantly resolved as soon as we understood what the other was saying, which took comparatively no time at all. That was the closest we ever came to fighting. It took us a while to learn how to have sex in a way that worked well, but that was due to our mutual inexperience, which was pretty close to absolute on both sides—we didn't have any trouble noticing what the other liked. That part was intuitive.

But some of my happiest memories—that I do my best to forget however possible—are of the nights that I would wake up and realize Leia and the baby were asleep next to me. Even when we went to sleep together, every time I woke up with my baby and my wife nestled into the nook of my shoulder was a gift from a universe more benevolent than I had ever imagined. Yet, I think I took for granted that it would always be like that. I had just become and adult, and I had no idea that the way things were weren't necessarily the way they would be for my whole adult life. It's not as if I didn't appreciate it, though. I remember one specific morning that I rolled over to find Ben fast asleep and Leia just waking up, smiling at me. I debated with myself for a moment about putting Ben in his cot—if we could make the transfer successfully, and he stayed completely asleep, then Leia and I could probably make love before he woke up...but even before I finished the thought, I realized that, more than anything, I just wanted to be there with them in that moment. I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Leia, smiling at me as if she knew what I was thinking, smoothed my hair and kissed me softly.

Ben was always, from day one, an absolute joy. He looked exactly like Leia, fair, round face and big dark eyes. No one ever would have noticed that he didn't look like me, because he looked so much like her. I was listed as his father on his birth certificate, and we never even talked about it anymore. I was Ben's father, and that was that. Sometimes well-meaning but rude older people would ask if we weren't too young to be married with a baby, but we were too happy to take offense. Leia would just straighten and say something self-assured as she smiled at me, something like "Well, we fell in love." And I was probably all starry eyes and awed smiles looking back at her.

The next two years passed too quickly. Ben learned to walk and talk and sing, and how to hide from me in an X-Wing hanger when it was the most inconvenient, and how to get candy out of Uncle Wedge, and how to pout to make Uncle Han forgive him if he drew on the floors of the _Falcon_. He was always small for his age, but smart and beautiful, and everyone loved him, Leia and I most of all.

* * *

I doubt Ben knows to this day that I'm not his father, and I doubt he ever will.

I remind myself that it's alright to miss him. It's not his fault that he is what he is. It's not his fault that I fell in love with his mother.

I run a hand through my still-wet hair as I walk down the dark nether-street to the cantina. I go to this one because it's so dirty and sketchy that it's completely safe for me—no one knows who I am, besides the pusher I come to see. Come to think of it, he might not know anything besides my first name and how to get ahold of me. And he doesn't care who I am. None of them do. They mind their own business, and I don't try to make friends anymore. They've never done me any good.

The pusher sits in a corner, hooded. He's almost always here, and I wonder absently what his life is like when he isn't. It doesn't matter. It's his business. He doesn't ask me why I want the spice, and I don't ask him why he sells it. It works out.

I'm aware of the fact that I'm scarcely recognizable as the boy hero of the Alliance, and that the beings who drink and smoke spice and play Sabbac here are not likely to know who I am regardless, but, all the same, I stick to the shadows as I cross the cantina. I don't care about my reputation—that was ruined a long time ago. I just want to be left alone is all.

I don't use the Force anymore. I'm afraid of the darkness I always see when I look at it, now, and I worry that it will overcome me, and then what would I do? But still, sometimes, there will be a twinge of something the the back of my mind, whether I like it or not. Loud enough noises always get through.

But I sense him a fraction of a second too late to do anything about it, and I see him even later. He's already seen me.

In a panic, body already charged with adrenaline, I turn and run from the cantina, back into the endless night and in the direction of the turbolift to the service. He's chasing after me, and I don't have to be Force sensitive to know it. I know him.

"Luke!" he calls, but I keep running. I run faster.

"Dammit, Luke!" He's gaining on me, and I'm already out of breath. I know I'm not in good enough shape to outrun him. And I don't really want _him_ calling _my_ name out on the street. How many of these people can piece together who I am, now? A Republic general. He should know better. I stop running, gulping air.

"I don't see you for more'n seven years," he calls, "And you can't even talk to me for a second?"

Now I can't buy that spice. Now I'm going to have to figure out how to deal with this. How the hell I can make him go away? I try to slow my breathing down, keeping my back turned to him. "Han," say softly when he's caught up. "I...I don't want to see you. I mean, I don't want you to see me."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"...Things aren't going so great, lately," I answer, turning to face him because I know I have to eventually. I know that he can see by the streetlights the glassiness in my red eyes, the dark circles under them, all the weight I lost years ago and will probably never gain back, how pale I am. I offer the smallest hint of a smile, maybe as an I-told-you-so, I'm not sure. And then I take a look at him.

He's heavier, and some of his hair is gray, but he looks basically the same. His shirt, jacket, pants, and tall boots all look exactly like something he would have worn during the war, but he's notorious for having specific criteria for his clothes. Always off-white shirts, always black, dark brown, or navy pants, vests, and jackets. Always Corelian bloodstripes. Always a leather holster that straps to his thigh. Those tall boots like Imperial officer boots, like the ones I eventually started wearing, too. I think it was partially because he always looked so good in them, so worldly and proud.

He looks at me with an expression that probably betrays more of his shock and worry than he wants to, but he also looks hopeful and excited. Well, this is the first time in seven and a half years that he's known exactly where I am. I didn't keep in touch. He frowns slightly as he looks me over. "What're you doin' to yourself?"

I can't believe he would ask me that. "I'm okay," I say with a self-conscious smirk. I wonder how he even recognized me. Maybe he was actually here looking for me, watching the door for someone my size, with my coloring. I wonder what else he knows, paranoid all of a sudden.

"Are you sick?" he asks, which is absurd, but I guess he wants to make sure he's not jumping to conclusions.

I shake my head slowly, and neither of us says that we both know perfectly well what's going on. Han knows the signs. He used to smuggle it. Besides, if he knew I was here, he might have known why, too. I bet he did.

"Hey, uh..." he says folding his arms across his chest, and I can see him doing that same old dance he always does to look casual when he's actually extremely uncomfortable. "Ben asks about you a lot." I assume he's getting right to the chase so that he can be sure he says what he needs to say if I run off again.

I draw a deep breath. I don't know how I'm supposed to get through this interaction.

"He's gettin' older and it's normal, you know, for him to wonder about his father. And he doesn't understand why he can't see you. You remember what that's like-"

"I'm not his father," I say soft enough that I don't think anyone else could have heard me, even if they were listening. "And finding _my_ father never did _me_ any good, so-"

"You're his father to him. I just...don't know what to tell him about...about you an' everything."

I just look at him, asking him with my eyes to drop it.

He looks down and shifts his weight to the other foot.

"I can't ever come back, Han."

"Luke, it ain't your fault-"

Yes, it is. He's just trying to make me feel better so I drop my guard. But I won't. "She's your wife, now, and you've raised the boys their whole lives. I think you can handle it." I don't try to keep the bitterness from my tone. "Besides," I finish mournfully, "They can't see me this way."

He nods as if he agrees, but, knowing him, I bet he's already working on some other way to convince me. He knows to retreat and come back for another attack later.

"Look, I heard about..." I have to stop and take a breath. I'm not gonna cry about this again, and I am never going to let Han know how hard this is specific part of all of this is for me. But I feel like if I don't say anything about it, I'll feel even worse. I'd rather he knows I know, that I've thought about it. "The baby on the way. Congratulations." I want to mean it. I try really hard, but my voice doesn't sound very convincing.

"Thanks," Han mumbles halfheartedly. I don't know what his tone is meant to indicate.

We're awkwardly silent a moment, and I look at him again. I loved him once, a long time ago. He was my best friend. But that was ruined before the rest. Now all feel when I look at him is a dull ache.

"Buy you a drink?" he asks in desperation.

I frown at him for a second, and he shrugs helplessly with a grin. It's so absurd, and it suddenly reminds me so much of...well, of _him_ , back when we got along, that I can't do anything but laugh. He laughs, too, and when our eyes meet I find myself saying, "Okay." I regret it as soon as I say it, because I just know he's going to try to work on me, try to get me to say I'll see Ben, or whatever it is that he actually wants. But at the same time, laughing with him has already helped me relax in a way I haven't in weeks, or months, or years. I needed to see him. I needed that from someone, and no one else could have been brazen enough to smash through my walls the way he's always been able to. He's only slightly timid about putting his arm around my shoulders, even though I shrink as he tries.

I honestly cannot remember the last time anyone touched me. It feels good, though, I admit, letting him lead me back into the bar. He still smells the same.


End file.
